Blood of Ilion
by River-Star2
Summary: When leaving the ruins of Ilion (Greek name for Troy), Helen sees her son (by Paris) slaughtered and her daughter (by Paris) taken captive as a slave. Will Helen ever find her daughter? MIX BETWEEN DEMETER AND PERSEPHONE AND CINDERELLA!
1. Prologue

River-Star: Hey! Guess what? This fic isn't about Eros and Psyche or about Persephone and Hades. IT'S ABOUT HELEN OF TROY AFTER THE WAR! Except, well, technically it's about her and her daughter, Helenia. But that's not the point. Reviews are appreciated and stuff. So read and enjoy. (P.S.: I came up with this in Ancient History because my teacher mentioned something about how since the Greeks didn't have birth control that they would just leave their children on a mountainside. I thought, HEY! Helen of Troy stayed with Paris Alexander for about nine years. She had to get pregnant sometime during the stay!)  
  
NOTE: Hellenes is what the Greeks called themselves. Ilion is the Greek word for Troy and Helles is Greece.  
  
Prologue  
  
Many a woman in Greek myth has found glory and honor through their works. But none is as famous as Helen of Troy, whose face launched a thousand ships. When she was fourteen, she was married to a man whose name was Menelaus, king of Sparta, brother of Agamemnon. With him, she had a daughter, Hermione, who was her spitting image. But love was not in the marriage and when she met the Ilion prince called Paris Alexander, she felt love's arrows sting her chest with fire. She left with him, taking Sparta's treasures and glory. They went to Ilion, where she stayed with Paris for ten years, till finally he was killed and the brothers of Paris vied for her hand. In disgust, she wished for home, but Aphrodite would not let her leave Ilion.  
Finally, the war ended and Menelaus combed the dead city with his warriors to find his unfaithful wife. When he saw her again, his heart went out to her and he took her to the ships. There, he asked her, "Is there anything, my loving Helen, that ties you to Ilion."  
"No," she answered, "My lover is dead, so too the king who took me under his wing. My son that was Paris' as well is dead. I have nothing left to satisfy me. Just give me that slave girl there, the one with the amethyst eyes, and I will be pleased to bear you children again." And so they left the desecrated ruins of Ilion, and Helen became Queen of Sparta again.  
  
*~~*~~* In Priam's Palace; Tenth Year of the Ilion War *~~*~~*  
  
I ran through the palace, my bare feet slapping on marble as my silvery gauze gown flowed around my slim body. My slender, fine boned fingers caressed the fresco wall that was beside me as I ran. My breathing was even for I had done this as long as I could walk as a babe.  
  
The fresco wall was peeling after long years of hanging, like a curtain, on the marble wall of my grandfather's palace. The sunlight etched golden lines along its surface, making a gleeful stream of light that highlighted the beauty of it. There were cracks along it, signs that the artisans needed to redo it after hundreds of years of age. But its beauty was still untouched by age. When my fingertips enlightened themselves on a crack, I withdrew my hand, afraid that the plaster, colorful like a woman's face after much make-up, might crumble.  
  
My feet made a rhythm against the limestone floor as I kept running, my hair, long and white-gold with random curls, whapping my back every so often. My eyes ran along with me, looking for a certain wooden door among the myriads that were carved into the walls. Each time I passed one, I counted. By the time I reached one hundred and twenty five, I knew I was there.  
  
Not missing a beat in my step, I stopped and raised my tiny fist to hit the door, wooden and inlaid with gold and rubies, forcefully. After a moment of muffled movement, the door opened a peek and a violet eye stared back at me. "Oh, Helenia!" the melodious voice, run through with sorrow like a body pierced with a spear, sounded in my ears. My mother, Princess Helen of Ilion, ex-Queen of Sparta, stared at me as she said, "Where is Helenos?"  
  
A mixture of anger and affection washed over me as I thought of my twin, who was a mirror image of myself except his hair was shorter and his face more masculine. "He is asleep still," I murmured, "He says he's not getting up till the screams of battle are heard. Helenos wants to scream taunts at the soldiers again, especially Menelaus, since he killed. . ." My voice broke off, noticing my mother's unshed tears.  
  
My mother had never gotten over Paris' death. Our father had been killed by mother's ex-husband (though some would say he is still her husband,) the King Menelaus. I had seen the red-haired king only once, his face hardened by the sun's onslaught of heat and the sweat on his brow making most of his features undecipherable. In truth, his helmet, a bronze one that had two wings circling round his skull, did much more of a job than his sweat did. Mother had told me about him lots of times. About how he was both wise and handsome, thought not much of a fighter, really.  
  
My mother opened the door more, welcomed me in with a flash of white teeth, and closed the door again, careful to lock at. I looked at the lock questioningly and she grinned when she noticed my look. "Your uncles are not leaving me alone worth the world. Ever since. . .Paris died they think they can court me anytime of the die, battle or no. Last night Troilus was attempting to sing to me on the balcony till I told him that either he could leave or get a very rude awakening tomorrow with one of my ladies-in- waiting in his bed. He left." She shook her golden head; wavy curls bouncing slightly as she did so. "Why haven't you come to see me lately, daughter? I've missed you and Helenos."  
  
She touched my cheek gently, showing the pale skin of her hands as well as their softness. I looked up into my mother's violet eyes, so much like mine, though lighter, and smiled back at her. "You look like Paris, but you have my eyes and a bit of my hair. The curls, chin, shape of your face and eyes, the brow, its all Paris. Your brother is so similar, though his hair a bit more golden. When you come of age, Helenia, you will be married to a king, and your sons will be strong and wise and your daughters beautiful and intelligent."  
  
I shuddered, thinking of the marriage gossip I heard in the nursery sometimes. My nurses told me stories of bad marriages often enough about how women were chained to their rooms, never let out unless their husbands wanted them. About how the husbands, feigning loyalty, would head into the city streets and visit prostitutes or other men's wives. Or maybe about how a woman would kill herself in despair because of her husband's unloving touches and glances that were just out of duty. I didn't want that. I wanted to be free and loved.  
  
"Mama," I whispered, "I don't want to marry."  
  
I watched my mother's face, so beautiful and pale like a sculpture of Aphrodite, change to one of confusion and interest. There was no rage like what I had got from my nurses or the other daughters of my grandfather when I told them. "Why not, love?" She asked, her melodious voice showing tinges of alarm.  
  
"The nurses. . ." I started, "They tell stories about how husbands are unfaithful and how wives aren't supposed to speak but just still there and weave and look pretty. The Vestals have been lives, I'm sure, Mama. I don't want to be chained to a husband who doesn't love me. It'd be cruel. I'd die, Mama."  
  
My mother's face turned into a mask of fury and she stood up gracefully, like a swan, and paced around the room looking for all the world like some lioness trapped in a cage. "Those nurses!" she nearly shouted, "I have warned them of the consequences of what would happen if they told you common stories! My hands will be at their throats! I'll make sure they never tell you a lie again, daughter, I will!" She paced again, near panting when she was finished. In all my life, I had never seen mother as angry as she was then. Fear struck me, turning my stomach over and rooted itself in my guts.  
  
"Mama!" I nearly shouted as well, "Please, Mama, don't worry. They don't mean to frighten me, I'm sure. I just have. . ." I sought my well- wrought vocabulary to find the right words, "I just have a weakened mind that is easily plagued by silly visions, Mama. Don't worry. I promise I will fear those stories again."  
  
Helen of Ilion stopped, looked at me, and smiled softly, her face taking on a glorious glow. "Of course you will. You are my daughter and Paris'. It is only right that you show yourself strong by brushing aside such things." She crossed the limestone floor, softly gleaming in the light of the afternoon sun, and hugged me tightly around the shoulders, kissing the top of my head, and taking my hands to lead me to her long mirror.  
  
It was a beautiful mirror and women and men liked to joke that Hephaestus himself had made it when he saw my half-god mother. I wouldn't doubt it. The mirror was made of silver, with rising swans of diamonds flying to the golden sun above, whose ruby rays brushed the sapphire lake below. An onyx forest backed the lake, feeding its roots into the emerald grass and topaz reeds. The mirror itself was made of glass from Egypt, reflecting perfectly the world around it that was trapped within the scenery as if never wanting to leave once it's seen its beauty.  
  
My mother tugged me into the view and started to brush my long hair, teasing the curls into compliance. The white-gold locks fell just below my thighs when brushed but when it was untamed and curly it just touched my hips. I looked into the mirror, seeing a tiny, skinny girl dressed in gauzy cloth imported from Egypt with a golden sash around her waist. Her amethyst eyes blazing a purple flame that threatened to melt the glass in front of it. High cheekbones, pale like a white narcissus flower, stretched across a face that was slender and well-made, like a marble statue come to life. The noble brow, determined chin, and full lips that looked red as if I had been eating many pomegranates without bothering to wipe away the juice. All of it, except for the gold locks and amethyst eyes, belong to Paris, my father and Prince of Ilion. His hair had been white when he met my mother and his eyes a bright sky blue. I could only faintly remember him though.  
  
Behind me, my mother stood, intent on her task of braiding my hair into multiple strips of white-gold stands of entwined hair. Her golden hair, longer than mine even, curled at the tips and framed an even paler face that had delicately arched eyebrows and violet eyes that were not as near as dark purple as mine or as fiery. Her heart-shaped face stood on a swan's neck that was piled on slender shoulders and a well-curved body. Her legs, long and slim, showed through her white silk gown that creased at the hips, collarbone, and shoulders. Her lips, pink and full, pursed in silent concentration. For bearing four children (Hermione is my half- sister and her brother was also my half-brother) my mother looked, still, like a young virgin. She was only thirty five years old.  
  
In a moment, she had given up trying to tame my hair into servitude to her soft hands and was just hugging me around the shoulders. "Would you like to go see the battle with me, Helenia? We could bring lunch and visit Andromache and Astyanax. Then, maybe, we could see if we could see Menelaus."  
  
I shivered, not understanding my mother's need to see men, crying and bleeding their soul out, on the sand. The smell of blood and rotting flesh was always strong on the wall and probably stronger on the battlefield itself. Many women and children went to see the battle, most of which were screaming taunts or weeping at the sight of their children's dead sack of flesh being trampled by unmerciful Hellenes. I didn't see the point, really.  
  
My mother clasped me to her all the tighter, as if fearing my chill. "Well, would it be worse if we saw Cassandra, the crazed princess?"  
  
I saw her glimmering violet eyes and knew she meant it as a joke. In truth, I liked Cassandra. She was probably the most beautiful woman I had ever met next to my mother. Cassandra, called Cassie by me and my brother, had black hair and dark blue eyes that held constant sorrow. She was kept locked in a tower by her father, my grandfather, because they thought she was mad. No one ever believed Cassie but Helenos and I. We were the only ones that heeded her warnings. "At least Cassandra speaks of more happy things," I shrugged, feeling the gauze lightly caress my skin, "Aunt Andromache only speaks of how great Uncle Hector was and how Astyanax will now grow up without a father and how she's so sad."  
  
Helen scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Cassandra's a liar and a freak. All she talks about is the future. I bet half the things she spews out of that red mouth of hers isn't even close to the truth. Andromache actually knows the present. Cassandra is a bit knocked in the head."  
  
I frowned in the mirror, staring at my mother with my burning gaze then said, "Alright, we can visit Aunt Andromache and Astyanax. We'll go see the battle on the shore and taunt the Hellenes, Mama."  
  
She smiled lovingly at me. "Good, daughter. Go get Helenos and I'll ask a servant to pack a lunch for us. I'll pack enough for four." She kissed my cheek and I walked out of the room, burning rage tucked deep in my belly.  
  
How dare my mother say such things about Cassie? Cassie told the truth! She was just doomed that no one would hear her.  
  
Turning a corner, I started to run towards the nursery.  
  
*~~*~~*  
  
River-Star: Well, how was it? I swear it will get better. Maybe worse. I don't know. I only write what the characters tell me. (That sounds crazy, I know, but its true.) Review, people, tell me what you think! 


	2. Chapter I: Astyanax and Andromache

River-Star: Thank you, my reviewers and readers for taking a slight interest in this boring fic.  
  
Focusly: I agree. But Helen loves him so I got to put Paris in somewhere. In all honesty, I think he's a stupid mangy git that was supposed to die earlier than that and should have just been left on that stupid mountain and the cattle herder should have let off the kid and let him die.  
  
Meg of Queenscove: God spare us if your English teacher reads any of this whatsoever. That'd definitely be a sin. Thank you about the reviews. I think its because everyone reads Eros and Psyche and don't care about Ilion or Helen for that matter. All of us mythologists are hopeless romantics at heart, even though if you ask any of them if they like it they'll go "Icky!" and shrink away. In our hearts, we love romance.  
  
Jo: Thanks. Do you want to see anything happen in it that's really special or something?  
  
Chapter One: Astyanax and Andromache  
  
*~~*~~*  
  
But when Helen got to Mycenae, she realized that the servant girl she asked for was the wrong one. Weeping and screaming, Helen went on a rampage in Mycenae. When asked, the beautiful queen would go quiet, the tears streaming down her face, and walk away.  
  
Menelaus and his son, Aethiolas, noticed the mother's drastic change in appearance and actions, for Helen had grown wane and sickly, her clothes hung limply on her as did her hair, and she was less enthusiastic to play with her new son, Maraphius. So Menelaus told his wife to find what she was looking for.  
  
Helen packed a small bag of food and money, some clothes and two pairs of sandals and left the palace of Mycenae, departing from her birthplace for a second time in search of her heart's treasure.  
  
*~~*~~* Priam's Palace; ten years into the Ilion War *~~*~~*  
  
I ran through the hall again, an exact replay of before with my bare feet, slightly calloused, smacking the ground in an ancient rhythm older than Ilion itself. Sunlight filtered through clothes hung on windows, as if it would block out the morning screams that had waken me since my first breath of life nine years ago. I stumbled over a sleeping pup that my grandfather, Priam, was so fond of.  
  
The pup, I remembered faintly, was called Ivan. His name meant glorious gift. Indeed, I thought as I looked over my shoulder at the puppy, which yawned widely and tilted his head as he watched my fading back. At two months, the puppy was golden like my mother's hair with sapphire eyes that reminded me of the lake that had been melded on my mother's mirror. His legs were promising with big paws and knees that were knobby, an unspoken promise that he would be tall and big. Ivan had a very bad habit of following me everywhere, which could either be bad or good, depending on where I was. Only he could tell the difference between my brother and I.  
  
Ivan scooted himself to his big paws and trotted beside me, easily matching his fast gait with mine. For once, I envied the dog. He had no clue that men were dying and betrayals were being played out for Helen of Ilion. He just knew that loud noises kept coming through the window with the golden light and sometimes his mistresses had wet stuff coming out of their eyes.  
  
We both ran into the child's nursery, a place where I stayed when I hadn't managed to escape my ancient nurse, who was about as old as my grandmother Hecuba. When I reached the open doorway, the cloth that was dyed red pulled aside; I roved the room with my eyes.  
  
In one corner, there was a crib where Astyanax was sleeping, his fists, so tiny and perfect, crumpled in on each other. His black hair was tousled gently by the stray wind and his chubby cheeks came to a close at the puckered red lips that smacked as he twisted his head in perfect sleep. I smiled at him as my amethyst eyes found another thing. There, on the regularly white walls, were pictures in yellow and red paint drawn by my twin and me when we were seven or eight. In the dye were two pictures, one of flowers and sheep grazing in a yellow field. The other was a man in yellow armor being pushed into a wall, pinned by a red spear with ruby blood flowing out of him. My hand had drawn the scream, a mix of red and yellow, in my native tongue, the letter clumsy and barely legible. Underneath the golden helmet, was the white hair of my father and the man spearing him had tendrils of red curling around his face. It was the reenactment of my father's death in paint by an eight year old. Beside those were two beds, both small for children and expertly carved from a cypress tree, the same, actually. In one was tossed aside covers and a thrown pillow, the cream colors looking like the milk my twin and I would toss aside as babes. In the other, more messy, if possible, was my twin, his blonde-white hair curling in wisps around his tan face, body slender and narrow underneath. His arms were tossed across his face, his pink mouth open to show his white teeth, all adult teeth already. At the side of his mouth, covering part of a slender cheek, was a bit of silvery saliva.  
  
I grimaced a bit, walked over to the side where Astyanax and my brother was and shook him, ignoring the two nurses startled vocabulary that scorned my twin's awakening. Two of my girl servants rushed forth. My mother had decreed that later they would be my ladies-in-waiting so that we could form a bond. But I hated them. They followed me everywhere till I shouted at them to go. Once, the girls tried to follow me to the bathroom and I screamed at them to let me go on my own. When I slammed the door on one of their fingers, it ended the discussion.  
  
My hands, small and as strong as a lioness' paw, gripped Helenos' shoulders and jerked him repeatedly. "Hey!" he cried, "Stop! I'm up, drat it, I'm up!" When his blue-purple eyes looked at me, he stopped shouting and twisted around in his nest of covers, burying his head back in his sheets. "Oh, its _you_." The disgust in his voice would have shocked any other person but he was just waking up and it was normal for me.  
  
"Yes," I said gently, "It is me and mama told me to fetch you, so get up and bathe and hurry up." I shook him again, more delicately this time.  
  
He groaned and raised his eyes from the pillow to look at me and say, "What's the point? All she does is roam around the city, talk to people, and buy flowers for Aphrodite. There's nothing interesting." Helenos' head plopped back into the sheep wool pillow before I yanked it from under him in a fit of anger.  
  
"For your information, _brother_, mama has decided that we're going to pack a lunch and go to the wall to see the fight. Then we can visit Aunt Andromache and Astyanax." I replied in a fit of rage. Honestly! Brothers are so annoying.  
  
"What's the point?" he asked again, "We can just look at him now. There's nothing to see in Hector's son but his black hair and big cheeks. He's like a chipmunk. Always nibbling or sleeping on something or bouncing around to annoy. And Aunt Andromache never does anything but weep and talk about how Astyanax will grow up without a father and how she's a widow and how Ilion was lost because of Achilles. Doesn't she understand that NO ONE CARES! Besides, Achilles is dead. Boo hoo." Helenos glared at me, "Now give me back my pillow, Helenia!"  
  
I glared back, knowing that the power of anger in my heart and eyes would pierce him all too well. "Not till you bathe and dress and go to the wall with mama and I." I retorted sharply.  
  
"Fine," my brother grouched. Then he lifted himself up and went to a room connected to this one that held a chamber pot and a tub. The girls my mother had assigned me had already brought up the hot water. My twin bathed himself in this and poured oil smelling of roses over himself. The perfume smell wafted into the air like a new breeze from Boreas, the North wind. That scent, so much like our mother's personality, drifted under the nose of another sleeper in the room, our one year old sister, Parisia. She woke halfway, and sneezed, then tossed up her fist in anger, squalling.  
  
Her mouth moved, a red rose bud to prove the smell, as I walked over to her. Parisia was almost ready to speak, and already walking and running. She was not very good at it though.  
  
I picked her up and hugged her, kissing her sweet brow, thinking that she looked more like our father than Helenos or I. "Gah baa hya!" she squealed and pressed her fists into my cheeks, pain coursing through my face. A dull anger bubbled up in me like a spring but I suppressed it, knowing that Parisia didn't know what she was doing. Instead, I set her down, took her chubby hand and started to walk.  
  
Helenos was done with his bath already and was waiting, a short tunic pulled over his narrow hips and flowing over part of his thighs. I wore only long tunics, which moved down to my ankles so that I would be true to my virginity as my princess status demanded. He looked at Parisia with disgust and then at me with love. "Good morning, Helenia!" he called and hugged me around my shoulder, a totally different approach to what had happened a few moments ago.  
  
I eyed him thoughtfully, his blues bursting with flavor into my purple ones. He wanted something, I knew it.  
  
"So, sis, do you think we'll see Cassie too?" he asked, looking totally innocent. His feet shuffled along with my bouncy ones and Parisia's stumbling steps.  
  
I glared at him and stopped walking to face him in anger. "You just want to prophesy! She won't tell you anything if you want it, you moron! You should know that by now. Cassie is not to be used, you know, let some silly soldier toy that you constantly use till one of its arms break off and you don't want it any more."  
  
My twin looked at me then shrugged carelessly and started walking again. I followed an inch behind. Tumbling, Parisia couldn't keep up with my brother or me so I hoisted her to my front and placed her arms, chubby and soft, around my neck. Parisia rested her sweet head on my shoulder and looked around, violet eyes luminous in the light. I rushed to meet my brother.  
  
When we reached my mother's rooms, the door was open and I saw Deiophobus talked to Helen without care about how she was fearful. With an angry heart, I charged in, Parisia's arms tightly wound around my neck.  
  
"How dare you?" I shouted at my uncle. His long beard, black as midnight, and his blue eyes shimmered in the dying torchlight that my mother had lit for better light while she weaved. "Can you not see that the princess Helen of Ilion is still in mourning? The laws of the gods decree that you cannot hound a woman into wifely duties again when she is still in mourning for her husband! Leave her, you vulture of a man, and depart from this room." I nodded at his two boy servants, both my age, and said, "Take your Cretan people with you."  
  
My uncle Deiophobus smirked at me, walked over, and ruffled my hair. "No matter how much a puppy barks, it's still a puppy," he said, "You are nothing, Helen's daughter, but another grandchild of the numerous in Priam's court. You can't stop me from courting your mother, despite your lineage." He smiled, displaying yellowing, old teeth, and pale lips that crinkled across his face like snakes.  
  
I shuddered then drew myself up, remembering that I was a grandchild of Zeus and the King Priam. "I am a granddaughter of Zeus, Deiophobus; you can claim no better lineage than that! As the blood of divinity that runs through me, I command you to leave!"  
  
He laughed. "Oh, the puppy barks again. She'll be nothing but that, even when she marries the son of Odysseus, Telemachus. Even then, she'll simply be Queen of the Rocks!" Uncle Deiophobus bowed, mocking me, and headed towards my mother again.  
  
Before I could think of what I was doing, I rushed forward and kicked him in the back of the knee, causing him to stumble and land before my mother in a bow. "You idiotic pig eater! All you can think about is your own desires, nothing of a woman's shame or her heart. You desire flesh, yet you don't want the feelings. What good is a shell if it has no history or designs on its flesh? Such is the question of you wanting my mother but not her children or her feelings. Give it up, Deiophobus, eater of pigs; my mother's hand is not yours!"  
  
My uncle growled and shouted, "Servants, discipline that liar!" He scrambled to his own feet, eyes ready for murder. Fear in my heart, I ran, dodging his lunge for me, and rolled under the archway of the servant boy's legs. The last one was too shocked when I bit him in the ankle to realize what Deiophobus had asked.  
  
Deiophobus, however, was perfectly angry, giving him more energy. As he rushed at me, and grasped me around the waist and wrapped a hand around my mouth, I bit him. Hard. He yelped and let me go, nursing his now- bleeding hand.  
  
He lunged for me again. "DEIOPHOBUS!" The man in calling stopped in mid-leap, looking wildly at the door. There stood Andromache, her brown hair crowning her head and her head held high. Her rosy cheeks shone and her neck, long and graceful, tilted up a stubborn chin. That day I would never forget. At that moment, Andromache was the queen she was supposed to be, as mother of the next leader of Ilion, with her blue eyes flashing like ice in sunlight, and her pale skin radiating a chilly glow. "Don't lay a hand on Helenia or I swear upon Hector's body that you will pay!" she shouted, icy eyes flashing again.  
  
Deiophobus growled but held off. And I ran to Andromache, wrapping my arms around her silken waist for comfort. She, in turn, placed her arms around me and held me tightly to her side. "Helen is still in mourning, and you court her, mindless of her own shame and defeat of spirit. You are truly a pig of men, Deiophobus. Hector would be ashamed to have you as a brother." She glared at him, stroking my hair back from my face.  
  
My uncle left, face red beneath his beard.  
  
Helen, racing over to me and Parisia, who had been dropped on my mother's bed in the fray, gripped Parisia in her arms and pressed the child to her chest protectively. "Thank you, Andromache, Helenia. I was so afraid I couldn't react. Even Zeus' children get scared sometimes."  
  
Andromache nodded coolly, still a queen, then dropped the act and hugged Helen, pitying her. "I know how it is to be courted when your heart is still trapped in ice, sister. It is a terrible thing. You came here with Paris, and soon you will leave without him."  
  
My mother pulled out of Andromache's embrace, face paler than usual. "What? But. . . But the Ilians' troops have not given up yet, have they?"  
  
Aunt Andromache shook her head, so that her crown of braids released two locks of chestnut hair, streaked with gray, which framed her lovely face. At Ilion, the joke was, all women were beautiful but Andromache was the most graceful and Helen the most beautiful. All others were second.  
  
"No, but there is a horse, wooden and tall, on the beach, framed only by waves and sand. The Hellenes have left us and you to your fate. But I know that there was a prophecy that the Hellenes would only fight us for ten years on the dot and today is the anniversary of the tenth year. No one else remembers this but me and you, Helen. Pack tonight for I will get sold, Astyanax will be murdered as well as the other sons of Ilion, and you will be a queen again. Your daughters will be slaughtered, as will your son, for they are children of Paris, illegitimate children in Menelaus' eyes and he doesn't want proof of his wife's dealings in Ilion. It would shame him. He will have his men slit their throats so that the house of Priam will fall and never be risen again."  
  
My mother started to cry and clasped both Parisia and I and Helenos, who had come into the room finally, in her embrace. "Menelaus would take away my heart and soul, then, if he slits the throats of my children. A murderer of babies, is all he is. Helenia's beauty is better than my daughter Hermione's. If he were to say she is a shame then he is a fool, for she is to marry Telemachus, ten year old son of Odysseus. Such a binding would bring us closer to that trickster and bring gold to our coffers. And if he kills Helenos, he loses a great commander who already can control a fleet and an army as if he were an aged general. Parisia is like I was at her age and surely he can make a marriage from that! Why would he kill my beautiful children? Oh, my children!" My mother, for the first time I had ever seen her since my father's death, started to weep in frenzy.  
  
I kissed her cheek, tasting salt on my tongue. "Mama," I said gently, "Let us go see this thing of our doom. I would see it, and know my fate better, than be afraid when it comes." My mother looked up, tears still shining like constellations in her eyes.  
  
"You are right, Helenia. You are always right. You are so brave, to face death and not be afraid." My mother took my face in her hands, kissed my lips, then my brother's, then Parisia's, before she stood, Parisia on her hip, our hands in hers.  
  
We walked with Andromache, who dropped by the nursery to take up Astyanax, and went through Ilion to the great walls. The walls of Ilion were its most famous attributes. No one could pass them for they were god made. Poseidon himself had laid them down, using his great trident as a lever to lay down the stones, and his magic to protect Ilion from invaders. Stairs led to the tops of the walls, which were about twenty per flight and there were ten flights of stairs. Climbing them while my father was alive meant my mother was dearly in shape. She had Parisia try to climb the first flight of stairs, but Parisia was not used to stairs and by the tenth one, she had bumped her knee and it started to bleed, causing a wail to go up from her. My mother washed it off on the hem of her long tunic and kissed it. She carried Parisia up after that.  
  
At the top, the plain of Ilion was set before us, a place where many men, cowardous and courageous, legendary and not even worth wasting a breath about, had bled and screamed in pain while Hellenes and Ilians cut each other down. Hector, Achilles, Patroclus and many a son of Priam had fallen here, cut down by spears and swords and arrows. But now, the plain was desolate, waiting to be raped again by the Hellenes and blood.  
  
In the center of it all was a gigantic horse, sacred to Ilion, who boasted that they were masters of the horse. The cypress wood gleamed with oil that had been rubbed on its surface and glistened in the sunlight, which beat like a hammer on the anvil sides of the horse's flanks. The neck arched bravely and the head faced downward in submission, as if bowing to the new masters and mistresses of the world. Its flanks were well rounded, I half expected it to jump off its wooden stand and wheels and prance in front of us, bunching up wooden muscles and tossing its cut mane.  
  
Men, Ilians, were already hardworking to get it in the city, for ropes had been attached and they worked with oil shimmering on their bare torsos mingled with sweat, another war of bodies on the plain though in a more normal sense.  
  
The women on the walls were laughing, dancing, and sharing cups of wine that vendors that had seated themselves on the wall had given them. Some had worn garlands of flowers for the event and some even had woven them and were giving them out to the people, women and children alike. All were praising the moment. For my mother, it was torture. Knowing it was the instrument of our torture, knowing it was our death in the shape and guise of beauty, she plotted behind her mask of Aphrodite.  
  
In the meantime, someone tossed a garland of roses over my hair and it landed sharply on my brow. One thorn pressed into my forehead so deeply that the wound bled. I cried out, barely, and pulled it off, but the thorn was still stuck deeply in the wound. I dug it out with a fingernail, sharp and well crafted, and stared at it in wonder. The thorn was golden, as if painted over. I looked at the garland again, noting that the other thorns were not golden. Tucking it inside on of the folds of my long tunic, I decided it was important. Later, I decided, I would show it to my mother. Maybe even Cassie. She would know what it means.  
  
I placed the rose garland on my head again, trying to look gleeful, like any silly girl would, but I knew that later that day I would die.  
  
My mother and I left, leaving Andromache, regal and beautiful, overlooking the plain with her son, reliving the day Hector died. As we moved to the city again on three horses, two mares and a gelding, men and women offered us more garlands and wine and cheese. We accepted most of the wine and cheese but I refused to take any of the others, using my first as an excuse. Parisia, however, was awarded with so many that they continually fell off her head and she refused, stubbornly, to go on till we gathered her garlands up. She would yell and scream and point at the fallen garlands till we stopped. When we returned she would laugh and gather them back on her head again, violet eyes shining.  
  
When we managed to make it back to my grandfather's palace, it was darkening quickly and shopkeepers and homeowners were retiring and putting out torches in their doorways.  
  
The torches were surrounding the hall in a basket of light, filtering it through the weighted eyelids of my brother, Parisia, and I. But my mother squirmed in the saddle. Even when she jumped off, careful not to rip her dress, my mother winced and moved quickly. Finally, we reached the nursery, where our beds had been made and Astyanax had already been placed in his cradle. I looked at him, careful to be quiet, and saw that the babe was sleeping fast, his chubby cheek pressed hard against his tiny fist. I walked over, lifted it up and pressed it to my lips gently. I plunged Parisia into her gilded crib and then changed into a lighter gown that I used for sleeping. My brother changed as well, going to sleep naked as the day he was born. He and I jumped in our beds, facing each other.  
  
Then, just like when we were younger and weren't able to separate, he grabbed my hand and held it tight. His voice pierced the darkness. "Are you afraid, Helen?" he asked, using the old nickname before we knew it would also summon our mother. The torches had gone out and we couldn't see each other's face but he and I could tell each other's feeling in the dark, because my mother had once told us, "Share the womb, share the joy and tears," and she was right. In our hearts we could always feel what the other was feeling: sorrow, elation, afraid, courageous. All of them we could feel, even pain though somewhat dulled.  
  
I squeezed his hand. "Yes, I am. I've never been afraid before, Nos. I don't want to die. I want to live." My voice trembled and my eyes threatened to spill tears like a jug overfilled with water.  
  
"Helen," he whispered, "If you live, will you remember me?" I could hear his voice waver and stood up from my bed, following his hand to where he lay. I clasped my arms around his neck in a tight hug.  
  
"Yes, Helenos, I will. I'll always remember you."  
  
A pause, then suddenly I felt a wetness on his face, and knew my brother and twin was crying. Then the wetness doubled, this time coming from my own eyes. We cried and held each other, my brother and I. Neither of the babies woke up, as if they sensed we needed to talk. I poured everything to my brother and he to me. We became closer than we had even in the womb of Helen of Ilion.  
  
"And so I. . ." suddenly my brother's voice broke off, because he fell asleep. I closed my eyes, and slept too.  
  
*~~*~~* Ilion Streets, near the Ilian Horse, Midnight *~~*~~*  
  
Helen of Ilion wandered through the streets of Ilion, shirking in the light and ducking into dark alleys and corners till she reached the dreaded dark horse that would end her children's lives. Taking a deep breath, she began to mimic each man's wife, especially Penelope, her cousin. A wind rose, as if trying to carry her voice away, and brushed golden hairs into her pale face that was covered in wet salt water from her tears.  
  
She didn't want her children to die.  
  
Finally, she gave up, weeping, and left to sleep in Priam's house.  
  
*~~*~~* Ilian Horse, One o'clock *~~*~~*  
  
The men, led by Odysseus, wandered out of the horse, hot and sweating. Their hair stunk as did their bodies. Their armor was bruised with cuts and gashes along the chest and stomach. Their legs were hairy and big with muscles. To anyone who saw them, they would be big as bears and just as hairy. The only one that wasn't was a sandy haired man, shorter than some, with big burly muscles and a sword that sung as it slipped out of his sheath. "Men," he murmured, instantly getting everyone's attention, "For ten years we have fought and died for this moment. Menelaus is not with us, for he is on the beach, but do it for him. Raid the town! Burn windy Ilion to the ground! Do it for Menelaus! For his glory and to redeem his shame! This war is nearing the end! Our names will ring in the stories of the world forever with grace and love. Our great grandchildren will hear the bards and be proud of us. Do it for Menelaus and I! Do it for home! If you see Helen of Sparta and Ilion, do not kill her. Bring her to Menelaus. If you see Astyanax or Andromache or the children of Helen through Paris, bring them to Menelaus or I."  
  
The men unsheathed their swords, shouted a blood-curdling scream and began to destroy the windy Ilion, house of Priam and legends.  
  
*~~*~~* Priam's Palace, Somewhere around One o'clock *~~*~~*  
  
I was awoken by a scream, so hurtful and full of pain that I nearly cried out myself. My hands moved to my brother's shoulder, shaking him in panic. "Helenos! Helenos!" I cried in a murmur, "Wake up, the Hellenes are here! Please wake up!" There were tears in my eyes.  
  
Astyanax and Parisia were screaming, demanding to be known and taken care of. Their nurses, huddled up and frightened, didn't move from their little balls of protection. Curse take them, I thought, and gathered Parisia while Helenos dressed and grabbed Astyanax. Another scream was heard, nearer and more frightened. A red glow showed under the cloth that covered our door. Knowing that the soldiers were near, I yanked my brother under our beds, careful to make it that the babies wouldn't cry and covering us with the edges of the covers.  
  
The cloth opened and our nurses screamed. Parisia and Astyanax made as if to start bawling again but the cloth I had stuffed in their mouths muffled the sound and made it nothing. Soldier's boots, leathery and old and tattered, came into view. "Oooh, children," he sang sweetly, "Come to me. We won't hurt you, promise. In fact, all we want to do is play. I'll take you to the king and he'll give you lots of toys and such. Just come to me and I'll take you there."  
  
I nearly laughed allowed. Did he honestly think I would fall for that?  
  
His feet moved closer, stopped, paused then stooped. I saw a remaining nurse, old and just as tattered as his battle sandals, pick up a piece of chalk from the remains of our childhood days, and toss it as far as she could with her last breath. It clanged far away and the sandals ran in that direction.  
  
My brother and I climbed out from under, noting the red glow had gotten bigger. We stumbled out from behind the curtain and ran as fast as we could. I passed the fresco painting, noticing that it got hotter as we went on. Fire, I realized, they are burning my beloved Ilion! My anger made my steps fleeter and much more graceful. My brother struggled to keep up but I was not going to slow my pace.  
  
Finally we reached the gilded door of my mother. It was closed. I banged on the door quickly, uncaring if anyone saw us. There were about two hundred doors in this hallway alone. It would surely take them awhile to figure out which one we had gone in. Right?  
  
The door open a crack, a purple eye appeared, noticed us, and opened it quickly, shoving us in. We almost fell and dispatched the babies, their mouths still clogged with cloth. They looked around with fear and curiosity. My mother faced us, her face glowing in torchlight. "Oh my children!" she cried out and embraced Helenos and I, "Helenia! Helenos!"  
  
She kissed us both, then Astyanax and Parisia. When she settled down, she spoke fleeter than any deer. "My children, the fresco. There's a secret passageway. You can emerge into a ruined smithy shop by taking it. It was how Paris and I escaped to see the world when Priam would have us stay here and live in luxury. Feel along the wall, there are cracks along it, count five cracks and on the sixth you must pull hard. There is a sliding doorway that will open. Take it and navigate. Go only to the left. Never go right because that would lead you underwater in the Scamander. Whatever you do, save Astyanax! With him, the dynasty of Hector and Priam prevails! May Hermes and Athena help you, my children, GO!" She pushed us out of her room, face glistening with tears.  
  
I looked up and down the hallway, noting that it was hotter, which meant the flames were coming closer to where we are. "Come on!" I grabbed my brother's hand and hoisted Parisia on my hip, wrapped one arm under her bottom to keep her up. My brother did so similarly to Astyanax, who was now sleeping peacefully, unaware of anything or any danger.  
  
I ran to the fresco, ignoring my brother's soft-spoken protests at how fast I was. When we reached the beautiful fresco painting, I counted five cracks and set Parisia down to pull with all my might on the sixth. It didn't budge. I pulled harder and harsher, grunting a bit as sweat stood at my brow.  
  
It still didn't budge.  
  
Helenos put Astyanax on the ground, nearly hissing at the hot stone beneath. Astyanax squirmed a little but otherwise didn't wake. He pulled next to me as voices started to come into my hearing. "We've got to find Helen of Sparta and Ilion. If you find her children, take them to Menelaus. Do the same with Andromache! Go, separate." The voice egged me on and I pulled with a might I'd never known before.  
  
The door moved back with a loud clank.  
  
We rushed through, gathering up the babies and ushering into the darkness. When we heard the snap of feet on the stones, we shut the door, which was easier to close than open. Taking up our courage (we had survived so far, yes?) we plunged into the darkness and felt out way. Taking about five lefts, we felt our way more. By now, Parisia had worked the cloth ball out of her mouth and was sleeping on my shoulder, drool lapsing over my back and neck. Normally, I would be disgusted but because our lives were on the line I loved her all the more for it. I touched her head, took a step, and found myself lost. My hand had slipped off the stone and I could find nothing.  
  
The heat above us flared, causing me to sweat all the more. The babies woke and started to cry. Helenos yelled at why we were stopped. "I. . . I can't find the stone!" I yelled back over the children's wails of pain and complaint.  
  
"We're going to die of being baked alive down here, Helen!" he cried out, voice wavering, "Priam's house is going to be baked to nothing with us!"  
  
With the panic in his voice, I summoned up more courage than I knew I had in me. Turning around, I brushed my hand against where I thought it had been and touched cool stone. "I. . .I found it!" I yelped in glee and started to move again, clutching my brother's hand in one and the stone with the other. We made more lefts till finally a faint shade of light wavered hesitantly, as if too afraid to press itself through the darkness and guide.  
  
I walked to it, my brother and Parisia and Astyanax with me and poked my finger through the hole, testing for fire. The air was cool.  
  
Parisia was awake and looking up at the light when I set her down and pried the debris away till we could get through. I went through the narrow hole first, boosting my body through harshly, ignoring the dirt and blood that gained on me through it.  
  
Helenos handed Parisia and Astyanax to me and I set them down beside me, settling Astyanax on my hip this time as Helenos pulled himself through. He grabbed Parisia and nodded at me. I nodded back, understanding that he was giving me leadership without question.  
  
We fled through a window in the smithy shop and down the hot streets of Ilion, where blood cleansed the city's cobbles and stained the dirt and where screams were the new music of Ilion that everyone learned.  
  
*~~*~~* 


End file.
